


now lie in it

by Spikedluv



Series: You've Made Your Bed [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Community: trope_bingo, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3654702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil's made his bed . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	now lie in it

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place some time after 2.14 Love in the Time of Hydra and before the events of 2.15 One Door Closes.
> 
> Written this morning and typed in this afternoon! I’m gonna get bingo this round if it kills me! As such, written for the fourth round of Trope Bingo for the _sharing a bed_ square. The previous mods encouraged people to turn the tropes on their heads, and so I did. *g*
> 
> Written: March 31, 2015

“Get your feet off the desk, Barton,” Phil said reflexively when he entered his office and saw Barton sitting in the chair in front of the desk with his feet resting on the corner of it.

It didn’t hit Phil until he’d spoken the words that Clint Barton shouldn’t be there. Not merely not in his office, but not on base at all. He closed the report he’d been viewing and set the tablet on his desk.

“How did you get in here, anyway?” Phil said as he sat behind the desk. Because he wanted to appear casual and unaffected by Barton’s unexpected appearance, and not because his legs were shaking and threatening to drop him on the floor.

“Inside your office, Sir, or inside your Sooper Sekrit Bunker?” Barton said, feet still propped unconcernedly on the corner of Phil’s desk.

Phil opened his mouth to deny that he had a ‘sooper sekrit’ anything, but, well, their new base was actually located in a secret location, so . . . “How did you manage to infiltrate this base?” he said instead.

Phil could figure out how Barton had gained access to his office – they had air ducts even in Sooper Sekrit Bunkers, after all.

“I walked in the front door,” Barton said.

“The alarms didn’t go off,” Phil said.

“Because I knocked politely,” Barton said.

Phil snorted, ignoring the amused expression on Barton’s face at the sound. “You’ve never done anything politely.”

Barton gasped and grabbed at his chest. “You wound me, Coulson. I flew in,” he said more seriously. “Koenig met me in the hangar. He’s getting me set up with a lanyard as we speak.”

“I prefer Billy, actually,” Billy Koenig said. “And I believe I left you to wait in the reception area.”

Barton shrugged, unrepentant. “I got bored.”

Phil bit his lip so he didn’t laugh.

“I see,” Koenig said dryly. “I apologize, Director,” he directed to Phil.

“It’s alright,” Phil said. “I’m well aware of Mr. Barton’s . . . peculiarities.”

“Hey!” Barton said.

Phil just hoped that his voice hadn’t given away just how pleased he was to see Barton again. Even if he had no idea what Barton was doing there.

“Why wasn’t I informed of Barton’s arrival?”

“I was going to let you know that Mr. Barton had arrived as soon as you were out of your meeting, Director,” Koenig said. “But I was busy looking for Mr. Barton and lost track of time.”

“Why didn’t the alarms go off when he entered our airspace?” Phil asked, more concerned about their defenses than the exasperation (an exasperation Phil knew firsthand) Koenig was feeling.

“Because we were expecting him?” Koenig said. At Phil’s confused look, Koenig said, “Former Director Fury’s contact?”

Phil tried not to look as dismayed as he felt. “You’re Nick Fury’s contact?” he asked Barton.

“Got it in one,” Barton said.

Koenig held out the lanyard he’d been carrying; Barton reached out to take it from him, but before he released it, Koenig said, “In future, don’t go anywhere on base without your lanyard, Mr. Barton.”

“Got it,” Barton said, making a show of putting the lanyard on over his head and patting it flat against his chest.

“Will there be anything else, Director?” Koenig said.

“No, thank you, Billy, that’ll be all,” Phil said. He watched Koenig leave with a touch of envy – if only he could get out of their upcoming confrontation as easily.

“If I didn’t know better,” Barton drawled, “I’d think you weren’t happy to see me.”

Phil flipped the switch beneath his desk that turned off all monitoring equipment, then waited until Koenig had disappeared around the corner before getting up to close and lock his office door, for all the good it would do if anyone (read: Melinda) wanted to get inside.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Phil said when he felt assured of their privacy.

“No? Where should I be?” Barton said. If you didn’t know him, you might not sense the anger banked beneath the lightly spoken words.

“In New York,” Phil said, braving Barton’s anger.

“Where I’d be doing, what, exactly?”

“Avenger business, running a diner, managing an apartment building, getting a dog!” Phil said. “Anything but getting involved in this situation!”

“So I’d, what?” Barton said, voice dangerously low. “Twiddle my thumbs while all my friends got involved?”

“You’re Avengers,” Phil said. “None of you should be involved!”

“I think it’s a little late for that, don’t you?” Barton said. “You do realize that it was Steve, with a little help from Nat and Sam and Fury and Hill, who knocked over this whole house of cards, right?”

“That’s where their involvement ended,” Phil said.

“You cannot possibly believe that,” Barton said. “Let’s not even talk about how Fury has his fingers in every pie imaginable, you really think Steve isn’t out there every chance he gets to hunt down Hydra and find his BFF Barnes? Our involvement doesn’t end just because SHIELD doesn’t officially exist anymore. It’s all part of keeping the world safe and being an Avenger, apparently.”

Phil sighed and dropped back into his chair. He couldn’t argue with that, but it didn’t change the fact that he didn’t want to be the one who sent Barton out into danger, not anymore. “Things are . . . complicated,” he finally said.

“You mean because of Gonzales?”

“How do you know about Gonzales?”

Barton shrugged. “I don’t know how Fury finds out half the shit he does.”

Phil snorted in agreement. “They have a helicarrier,” he said softly. “We have the bus and a Quinjet that we stole. Our resources are . . . not without limit. Money, equipment, personnel. We’re trying to hunt down Hydra and convince General Talbot that it’s in the country’s best interest for SHIELD to even exist, and now this. SHIELD divided, and now my team, people I trusted, are divided.” Phil screwed up his face. “I have so much more empathy and respect for Peggy Carter and Howard Stark now. I can see how . . .”

“Grant Ward is not your fault,” Barton said. “Neither is Garrett.”

“I _trusted_ him,” Phil said. “I put him on my team. John Garrett was my _friend_. So many people died because of them.”

“You mean because of you, right?” Barton said, getting right down to the heart of the matter. “Because you weren’t omniscient and didn’t see this coming?”

“Fuck you,” Phil said without any heat. “I should’ve noticed something.”

“Why? Why you, when no one else did? Because you’re special?”

Phil glared at Barton. “When did you become such close friends with logic and being reasonable?”

“When Nat was telling me all the reasons I shouldn’t hunt you down and kill you myself after we found out you were alive.”

“Oh,” Phil said. Given the current situation, he’d actually forgotten about the little matter of his supposed death. “We should probably talk about that.”

“Yes,” Barton agreed with a look that told Phil he was going to be very sorry when they finally got around to that conversation. “But not now. We have another matter to straighten out.”

Phil cautiously nodded his agreement.

“You can keep me out of SHIELD, but you can’t keep me out of trouble.”

Phil snorted, all too aware of how much of a trouble magnet Barton was.

“I meant,” Barton said, “that you can’t keep me from trying to help by wrapping me up in cotton. Besides, wouldn’t you rather be able to keep an eye on me?”

“Keeping you out of trouble would be a full time job, Barton.”

“You’ve had experience, so you’re better prepared than most,” Barton said. “Consider me a . . . consultant.”

Phil raised his eyebrows. “A consultant?”

“I have a specialized set of skills that you can take advantage of.”

Barton spoke the words with a straight face, but Phil felt heat in his cheeks anyway.

“And from what you’ve said, you can use all the help you can get. Are you really in the position to turn down mine? Also, it’s kind of insulting that you think I can’t take care of myself. I mean, I was trained by the best, after all.”

Phil sighed. As much as he didn’t want Barton involved, he really couldn’t turn away the offer of assistance. Which Nick had to have damned well known when he sent Barton, so the next time Phil saw him they were going to have words.

“You’ve made your own bed,” Barton said.

“What?”

“Made the decisions, the choices, that brought you here, to this point in time. Don’t you think you should do me the courtesy of allowing me to make my own choices?”

“And what choice would you make?” Phil said.

“To share your bed, of course,” Barton said.

“Of course,” Phil said weakly, glad the desk hid his response to the idea of Barton in his bed.

“Metaphorically speaking. As a consultant only.”

“Yes, that’s . . .”

“Good,” Barton said briskly, standing. “I’m glad that’s settled because I came here for a couple of reasons. One was the consultant thing. One was to yell at you. A lot.”

“Okay,” Phil said, bracing himself for Barton’s well-deserved dressing down.

Instead of the tongue lashing Phil expected, Barton walked around the desk and pulled Phil’s chair away from it. He straddled Phil’s lap.

“Uh . . .”

“The last thing was this,” Barton said, and then he kissed Phil.

Phil was so surprised that he couldn’t hide his response behind his usual bland mask. He moaned into Barton’s mouth and grasped his hips, reflexively pulling him closer.

“Barton, Clint,” Phil said when they broke the kiss to breathe, but Barton . . . Clint didn’t let him finish. He claimed Phil’s lips again and ground down against him, and Phil couldn’t keep himself from returning the kiss, from raising his hips to meet Clint’s.

“This is a bad idea,” Phil said, tilting his head to give Clint better access to his neck.

“Because we’re probably going to die?” Clint said.

Phil managed a half-shrug in agreement.

“All the more reason not to wait any longer,” Clint said. “And it’s not like you’re my boss anymore. Heck, I’m not even a SHIELD agent, I’m a _consultant_ ,” Clint said, emphasizing the word with his teeth on the tendon in Phil’s neck.

Clint slipped a hand between them and Phil groaned out, “Fuck!”

“So, tell me, Phil,” Clint said as he rubbed the heel of his hand over Phil, “is there room for one more in that bed you made?”

“Your metaphors suck,” Phil said, then keened when Clint twisted his wrist just right.

“That’s not all that sucks if you play your cards right,” Clint promised.

Before Phil could formulate a retort, Clint slid off his lap and pushed his knees apart so he could kneel on the floor between them.

“What if someone comes in?” Phil said, though he raised his hips without argument so Clint could pull down his slacks.

“You locked the door,” Clint said, because of course he noticed, “and I hope like hell you turned off any recording devices, or we’re giving someone a free show. With the bonus that we can watch it later.”

“I missed your mouth,” Phil said, feeling nostalgic.

Clint raised his eyebrows.

“Not like that,” Phil said, blushing despite the fact that he already had his pants down around his ankles. “You used to talk all the time over comms, and I missed the sound of your voice. You never shut up.”

“Only when my mouth was full,” Clint agreed.

Phil opened his mouth to say . . . something, but the words were lost when Clint took him into his mouth. Clint worked his mouth down Phil, then sucked hard when he came up. Phil made a strangled sound and forced himself to remain in his seat rather than thrust up and fuck into Clint’s mouth.

Clint took his time licking around the head of Phil’s cock, then lowered his mouth again. Phil had conditioned his body not to react to Clint Barton, but he’d gotten out of practice over the last couple of years. He’d been aroused before Clint had even touched him, and he was blaming that for coming so quickly after Clint put his mouth on him.

Clint swallowed around Phil, talented tongue drawing his orgasm out of him until Phil was wrung out and empty. He stood, licking his lips, and slid back onto Phil’s lap to kiss him again.

When Phil caught his breath, he reached for Clint, but Clint caught his hand. “Not now,” he said. Before Phil could misunderstand, Clint said, “I was kind of hoping you’d fuck me later. In your bed. That we’re now sharing.”

Phil wanted to order Clint to drop that awful metaphor. Or pun. Or whatever point Clint was trying to make, but he was interrupted by Melinda’s voice over the comm unit sitting on his desk.

“Phil, I’m turning the camera back on in sixty seconds, so you’d both better be decent.”

“Hey, Melinda!” Barton said, even as he scrambled off Phil’s lap.

“Barton,” Melinda said dryly. “Fifty seconds.”

Clint helped Phil straighten his clothes. “You’re going to kick everyone else out of the bed first, though, right?”

“You know, Clint,” Phil said, resigned to (and not really all that put out over) Clint’s sense of humor. “We don’t all actually share a bed.”

“Good to know,” Clint said. “More room for me.”

“Yes,” Phil said, though to be honest, he’d make room for Clint anyway.

The End


End file.
